Terminis
by Niger Aquila
Summary: Travelling through Hoth, Cipher Nine ponders on the notion of trust, and on how he has become a voluntary victim to it.


A/N: Started this some time ago when I first played through the agent's story in SWTOR. Set during act two, at a point when I genuinely started to fear for my agent's sanity (and since it is a Bioware game, you can actually make your character go crazy).

* * *

He can't believe he is starting to miss Taris. Yes, even the Rakghouls. No doubt this is yet another sign of him going insane. But fighting the Rakghouls has at least given him something to do. Here on Hoth, there is only snow, snow and more snow. His destination is nowhere in sight and his speeder hardly seems to be moving at all. Everywhere he looks, it is the same endless whiteness.

Normally, he would take this time to review his missions - to go over different possible outcomes and prepare himself for whatever that may come. These days, however, he can hardly bring himself to focus on his work - both for the SIS and for Imperial Intelligence. Inevitably, his thoughts would drift back to himself and his current predicament.

Self interest has no place in an agent's life. There is only the Empire, and the missions. Some time between his meeting Ardun Kothe for the first time and his breaking into Intelligence's archives, he has stopped caring what an agent of the Empire is supposed to do.

And really, in this particular case, his own interest is very much in line with his mission objective. Whatever Kothe is planning, it does not bode well for the Empire, and if he is to do anything about it, he needs to find a way to free himself from his programming. So as far as he is concerned, breaking into Intelligence's archives was more than justified.

The way he found himself dealing with his discovery, however, was not. It was not even a surprising discovery. Deep down, he had already known who was responsible for his brainwashing; he had merely needed proof. What he did not expect was how much his faith in the Empire had been shaken. For the first time he found himself questioning his loyalty, and for the first time he found himself wondering if the Empire was worthy of it.

He scoffs at his own thought. Apparently, he is not as much of a patriot as he thought he was. It is not an admission he is proud of, but however many lies he tells everyday, he always tries to be honest with himself.

Still, a thought is only a thought. The cold rage is certainly there, but not strong enough - not yet - to deter him from his mission. _His_ mission, the one assigned to him before everything spun out of control. _Legate's_ mission is progressing well and will likely be successful, meaning time is running out. There is no room for doubts. He cannot let them win.

_"But who are 'they'? Or does it matter?"_

He can think of several ways to sabotage SIS's operation, or even to turn it to the Empire's favour, but it is not as if he can act, can he? His programming prevents him from even hinting to the others that something has gone wrong. A part of him relishes at the chance of revenge. By brainwashing him, the Empire is also dooming itself.

_"Patience. The time of payback will come."_

"It was the Sith's doing," he insists, and wonders who he is trying to convince - definitely not an ex-analyst who he has killed on Nar Shaddaa.

_"The Sith might not have given the old Keeper any choice... or they might have. Or perhaps he was the one who wanted to control you in the first place. What will you do then?"_

He has no idea what he will do. All he knows is that, somehow, the Minister of Intelligence has become the one thing that anchors his loyalty to the Empire. It is absurd, because one man's action cannot possibly mean so much, but deep down he knows it is the truth.

He remembers telling the old man, seemingly a lifetime ago, that he joined Intelligence because he wanted to serve the Empire. The Minister - still Keeper then - had tried to warn him about the nature of their work, though it was only after he became a Cipher and travelled to different planets that he began to see what "serving the Empire" as an agent really meant. It is not just about fighting the Republic. It is not about serving the Sith. It is about defending the people, both from the enemies without, and from the lunacies within. It is a thankless position, but someone has to do it.

That is what he has been doing. That is what made him fight Jadus despite knowing it would likely mean his death. He remembered being glad that he was but a normal man, with no genetic alternations, no mean to calculate the long-term consequences of his choice, and no way to talk about the future with the certainty that Watcher Two had. And so the choice was an easy one. He would not sacrifice countless lives because of a _possibility_. Jadus escaped, but the Eradicators were stopped, and at that moment, he couldn't be prouder of himself.

But that was also the start of this nightmare. In return to his doing his job, they have stolen his free will. And yet, even after seeing the record of the Minister ordering his brainwashing, he still refused to believe the man had betrayed him. Instead, he had almost immediately concluded that it was the Sith's idea.

And he can deal with it being the Sith's idea. By now, he has almost come to expect it. But if he is wrong...

_"It will break you."_

Yes, he supposes it will. And he supposes it means he has failed as an agent. After all, he was trained to expect treachery. He was taught to never trust anyone, not his closest companions or even the droids, because betrayal - and the need to betray - is always near.

"Trust no one," he whispers, repeating what has become a mantra since his days at the academy.

He wonders what has gone wrong and where his trust in that old man has come from. But no. He cannot afford to question himself now. Not when this blind faith is all that is driving him forward, and for the moment, holding his sanity together.

Hinging everything on a single deciding factor is a mistake not even amateurs would make, but he has no other choice. Either he holds onto this one slippery rock and hopes it can support his weight, or he let himself fall.

He half-expects a dry remark from the dead man in his head, but there is only silence as he continues his journey through the snow. The whiteness stretches on, and the sense of dread grows. Sometimes, if he pauses for long enough, he can almost hear a cracking sound coming from deep within his brain. He has never been more afraid.


End file.
